#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

November Brook

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

Excerpt from “The peace of wild things,” Wendell Berry

Now the frost. Twenty-nine degrees. My car takes a bit to warm up. There has been a bit of a noisy start of the day; a bit of unrest. Still, there is always a way to cheer him up. He always wants to be cheered up. I go off for my swim. My muscles are sore from moving some furniture yesterday, but I do my mile. And then have a few minutes in the yard, to the brook with Charlie. There is so much peace there to take with me into a busy day of groups. First, my Charles River critique. Special, as always. A quick lunch, and then my friend and I launch the first support group for the Israeli therapists. Two from Israel, one from West Coast, US, and a few that signed up and I hope will arrive next time. It’s evening in Israel when we meet. We are off to a powerful start. Then, my play lab again. Everyone turning the corner, the scripts coming into shape for the showcase. Dark comes early; my daughter and I drive to Blue Moon to get soups for a casual supper. Frank away. I am happy to drop into rest, and fall asleep while we are all watching a tv show, laughing. I dreamed of my mother. That dream where I am trying to call her and she doesn’t pick up the phone. I think that’s a feeling of dementia, not just the fact of her being literally gone from this world, but gone while she was in the world. Maybe tonight I will dream of making a connection with her.